


Laying Foundations

by Serpentine



Category: Hurog - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Dragons, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:41:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpentine/pseuds/Serpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A thousand thanks to my beta readers, Feuervogel and Cookiepirate!  You made this fic a <i>lot</i> better, and you did it with very little notice.  The kudos belong to you!  :D</p>
    </blockquote>





	Laying Foundations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elsandry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsandry/gifts).



> A thousand thanks to my beta readers, Feuervogel and Cookiepirate! You made this fic a _lot_ better, and you did it with very little notice. The kudos belong to you! :D

Hurog's oldest dragon was watching the Hurogmeten with an intensity that was only unusual because of the setting. Ward generally bore watching, due to his penchant for finding the biggest trouble going and flinging himself into it headfirst, often without backup; all he was doing right now, however, was grouting the floor of Hurog's new guest quarters.

Not, Tisala thought, that he should be grouting floors, with the hoofmark of Pansy's grey filly still tender and red on his right thigh after yesterday's training session -- but compared to yesterday, when she'd found him trying to clear rubble, it wasn't _too_ strenuous a task, and it did keep him from finding further trouble.

Fondness laced all her thoughts as they turned to Ward, not least because he was her newly-acquired husband. They'd married as soon after Jakoven's death as could be arranged; a month for Ward's injured belly to heal, and another two in which to get Kellen's feet and throne firmly under him, and then to gather most of Shavig (or so it had seemed, when she'd stepped into the hall to a deafening toast from what looked to be half a thousand towering Northmen) for a wedding fit for the Hero of Hurog.

Yes, all thoughts of Ward tended to bring a certain warmth along with them. Oreg, on the other hand, was causing some perturbation of mind. This wasn't the first time she'd caught him with that intent, Hurog-blue gaze focused on the Hurogmeten; but it was the first time she'd seen it in so unthreatening a situation. Although, come to that, he'd been similarly intent during Ward's wedding; which was _emotionally_ a challenging event for Ward, but not one likely to involve any damage to his hide. Even more interesting was the way Oreg's stare had changed instantly into a wide, reassuring smile every time Ward looked his way, only to fade back into serious study afterward.

Tisala's gaze went once more to Ward -- The Shavig Giant, the Hurogmeten, her new husband, her lover -- who was safely occupied with cursing his grout bucket. She let her own lips slide into a smile. Down on his knees on the floor, hands pale with smears of tile grout, he did not look like the hero of Tosten's tales. What he most looked like (aside from a builder's apprentice) was the man she loved, with his boundless heart and strangely humble mien that set the Hurogmeten to whatever task needed doing in the rebuilding of his beloved keep, and never mind that Kellen's gratitude had stretched as far as the provision of additional building crews. The curtain wall would now be finished sometime before Ward expired of old age, a fact which delighted Tisala mostly because of how much it delighted Ward.

Her father's estate in Oranstone had been her own, in many ways, and she had loved it fiercely -- its stones and its horses, its servants and its people and its lands that fed them all. She had fought for it, steel and word; shed blood for it, and overseen it with a hawk-sharp eye in her father's stead when needed. Nonetheless, within her was a growing certainty that Ward's love for Hurog outstripped her own love for Callis; Callis, for all its familiarity, had never loved her _back_.

Hurog had come to Ward's call and saved his life when he'd wrestled with the ancient power of Farsonsbane, reaching out to its guardian five hundred miles distant from its own soil. It had an intelligence, Ward had said. Uncomfortable thought, that, for someone who had grown up knowing magic only in the form of her father's wizard. There had been very little _magical_ about Terin; nor had his intelligence ever been uncanny.

Uncanny sentience or not, though, Hurog was growing daily more familiar, and more a part of her. For saving Ward's life, and because his love for it was so easily apparent in every word and glance, she thought she was growing to love it, too.

Which was why she was grouting tile across the room from the Hurogmeten, a task dull enough that she had time to observe his mage and ponder the power of his lands.

Maybe Ward _was_ up to something to make Oreg worry, something Ward hadn't confided in her yet? It would explain why Oreg was watching from a distance, tucked into a corner and doing his best to fade into the background; if he knew Ward was planning something risky that Tisala herself wasn't aware of, he wouldn't want to give the game away by hovering.

Knowing too well Ward's tendency to protect everyone around him in spite of their own preferences, Tisala resolved to keep her eyes open and say nothing for a while. He was getting better about trying to shield them from risks; he deserved a chance to tell her himself.

==+=+=+=+==

The summer came and waned, less damp than Oranstonian summers ever were; Tisala remarked that it was at least _some_ compensation for the winters, which only crazed Northmen could find normal.

"We prefer eating cold food to eating mildew," was Ward's retort. "Hardly unreasonable. At least if your bread is frozen, you can put it in the oven. In an Oranstone winter, it just turns green and dissolves." He shook his head pityingly. Tisala poked him in the side, and he swung an arm out and pulled her close.

"I thought all Shavigmen cooked on a spit over an open flame, if they bothered to cook at all," Tisala teased. "Are you sure you know what an oven is?"

The early fall air was sweet and just starting to turn cool; it felt wonderful on her skin as they rode around the line of the curtain wall. The ride had become a race once they were far enough away from Hurog that nobody could see the Hurogmeten galloping. At the farthest point of the wall they had dismounted to share bread and cheese and a little time to themselves, away from the keep-in-progress and its growing crowd of work crews, relatives, and traders seeking dwarven materials. This far out, the curtain wall was still naught but a heap of rubble.

Ward opened his mouth to counter her taunt, only to fall silent and glance over his shoulder toward the patch of trees that served someone as a timber source, as though he'd heard something she didn't.

Her hand fell to her sword hilt without conscious thought; she was growing accustomed to the notion that Hurog kept its guardian informed of the dangers that entered it. With her weaker left hand she gathered up Feather's reins and prepared to follow Ward's lead against whatever mischief might have found him out here. Bandits? Basilisks?

Oreg, however, was all that strolled out of the beech copse, looking as calm as if it were Hurog's gatehouse.

"Oreg," Ward called, sounding surprised. "Is there trouble at the keep?"

"No, Ward. Tisala," he greeted her absently, as he approached. "I was just collecting more dwarves'-beard and deermallow for the healing kit." He smiled at both of them, easy and pleased. "What brings you out this way, Ward?"

Before Ward could say, he looked at Tisala again, and at Feather and Pansy where they were cropping grass unhurriedly next to the picnic remains, and raised his eyebrows. "Never mind! I'll leave you both to your diversion." With a grin that reminded her of the time he'd lectured Ward on letting rabbits escape, he bobbed a bow at each of them and excused himself. Tisala felt heat rising in her cheeks despite herself; Oreg's good-natured baiting frequently had that effect on her.

More for distraction than anything else, she asked, "How did you know he was there? Did Hurog tell you?"

"I felt his magic," Ward said absently. "It feels very distinct; dragon-flavoured, like Hurog's magic. Or like mine, I suppose." Some darker thought flitted over his face, then; probably to do with the Asylum. Ward only got those flickers of concealed distress after nightmares about the Asylum, or when discussing Oreg's past -- _not_ discussing, rather, in that careful way that told her far more than his absent words could have.

"Oreg's magic feels like Hurog?"

"Yes. Or maybe the other way round. He told me, once, that Hurog was steeped in dragon magic," Ward's tone grew thoughtful. "It was why Kariarn's wizards lost control of the basilisk, once they brought it here."

"Oh," Tisala started.

"It was one of the first clues he was a dragon, too," Ward went on, looking rueful, "but I didn't catch it then. I asked would it weaken his control of the basilisk, too, and he said his magic would be stronger here."

"When _did_ you discover he was a dragon?"

"Not until after. Poor Pansy almost fell off the mountain," he added, and patted the stallion's neck.

The playful mood of earlier had been broken. Ward was starting to glance after Oreg, obviously thinking of all the things his strong shoulders could be doing at the keep, since Oreg was dutifully fulfilling his role as Hurog's strongest mage and healer.

No one had ever accused Tisala of being slow-witted. As they gathered their blanket and water skins and repacked them into saddlebags, her mind forged new connections rapidly. Ward had known Oreg as nothing more than a frightened slave through the entire war against the Vorsag; no wonder Tosten had feared him incapable of seeing Oreg's true power. She'd never thought Ward was unaware of the potential danger that walked at his side; but that was time enough and more for Ward to have decided Oreg was one of his strays to be protected, and once Ward took something under his wing nothing ever entirely removed his instinctive responses to it.

And Oreg's magic felt like Hurog's. Every time Oreg used his powers, which he did as easily as he breathed, Ward _felt_ it. Tisala knew very well how Ward felt about Hurog; when it touched him, his face grew calm and inward-looking, with a suggestion of pleasure if no news of disaster followed. Rather, in fact, the way he looked when she laid her hand on his arm, to catch his attention.

Now she wondered how many times she'd seen him react with that look, not to Hurog itself, but to Oreg.

As they mounted up and began following the round curve of the curtain wall, she asked, "Was Oreg really out here to gather herbs?"

Ward looked puzzled. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"I thought... Well, he doesn't have a lady friend near the keep, but when you can fly, distances are different. Maybe he was visiting someone."

Ward's eyebrows scrunched, as though this was something he'd never considered.

Tisala shrugged. "It would be nice if he... had someone. It can't be good for him, always being alone, and having come back from the dead surely doesn't lend itself to making friends." It was more obvious, somehow, out here alone, as if the wide space all around them had just now made her aware that Oreg carried a little space around him even at the keep, where no one pressed too close to Hurog's most uncanny relation.

Truth be told, she felt a bit guilty when she considered how much of Ward's time she'd monopolised in the past half year -- only natural, of course, as new spouses who also had a king to uphold, a keep to rebuild, and a land to look after before winter descended on them again. The memory of Oreg's face when he couldn't get Ward out of the Asylum flitted behind her eyes, and she heard her own voice murmuring to Ward that even dragons needed a reason to live.

"Hmm." Her words must have stirred up similar worries about Oreg's lonely position, because he looked very thoughtful as they rode home. Well, then. Two heads were better than one, so surely they would come up with a useful notion in time.

The rest of the day disappeared in a flurry of activity, as usual. She managed to fit in a sparring match with a couple of the Blue Guard, in between directing the men who were refitting the keep's kitchen, talking to the steward in charge of Hurog's trade with Seaford, updating the livestock books to reflect the week's slaughtering, and writing a letter to Ciarra and Beckram. Thoughts of Oreg faded into the background for a while, as the business of being the Hurogmeten's wife went on.

==+=+=+=+==

Those thoughts returned to her that night, though, wrapped around Ward and slowly cooling down after a bout of rather splendid lovemaking.

She was increasingly certain that Oreg was lonely -- his distant study of Ward whenever they were in the same place, the way he smiled at her whenever she was affectionate toward Ward (the same smile he'd had when he'd been trying to push them together, as though he were trying to _give_ Ward something), the _lack_ of any gossip whatsoever about him amongst the keep's staff and even the family members, who really ought to know better. They all seemed to take for granted the idea that Hurog's dragon would naturally keep to himself. _Do they think Hurogs sprang out of the ground like dwarves, then?_ she thought wryly. _Dragons_ obviously _enjoy company as people do, or Oreg wouldn't ever have been born!_

Maybe they thought he was waiting for another dragon to court... Did dragons feel about halfbreeds and bastards the way humans did? Would another dragon be any more inclined to befriend Oreg than was the human population of Hurog?

"Still awake?" came Ward's sleepy voice.

"Mmm. Half, anyway."

"We can fix that," Ward whispered into her ear. One big hand slid along her side to fit the curve of her hip. "What are you thinking about?"

For the rest of her life, Tisala would blame Ward's distracting hand for her reply. "Oreg."

Ward's hand, and everything else, went quite still. " _Oreg?_ "

The blush that sprang up across her face felt hot enough to cook over; she rolled away from Ward and muttered, "sorry!"

Laughter behind her told her that she was forgiven. "You're still thinking about Oreg being lonely," he said.

"Yes." It came out only a little desperate. Gods, that Ward might think she'd meant... Her scarlet face grew even hotter. "I love you," she offered softly, and dared to turn back around.

The low laugh that rose from him when he saw her embarrassment was reassuring enough that she slid close to him again. "I thought about pretending to be offended," he confided, as his hand settled on her again. "But I couldn't do that to you. I thought about it all day, really, until we went to bed. I think you're right; Oreg doesn't have anyone. I wish there were something we could do about that." He eyed her speculatively. "I don't suppose you know of any lady mages in Callis who want to relocate?"

Tisala shook her head. "Do you think he'd trust a mage to get close to him?"

"Probably not. Mages haven't exactly..." _been good to him_. She heard that even though it wasn't voiced, the same way she knew Ward was still half-including himself in that category because of what he'd had to do -- what Oreg himself had driven him to do -- to keep the dragon's bones out of Kariarn's hands.

"I think you're the only mage Oreg will ever trust at his back," she said. "You give him something to believe in."

"You do, too," Ward smiled. "Last week he told me you were the perfect match for me. I thought at first he meant you were perfect _for_ me; but he meant he sees you as my equal."

For that she kissed him, and they found themselves not too embarrassed, after all, for what they'd started before the discussion.

==+=+=+=+==

The next morning, and through the next weeks, the things they each had said simmered gently in the back of her mind like a pot of stew left to thicken. Outwardly, nothing was said; but she noticed now that when Ward wasn't in the room, Oreg watched _her_. When she caught him at it, she smiled before returning to her labours. She owed him a debt on behalf of her husband's life and her king's freedom; a smile was the least she could offer him.

If Oreg had decided that she was worthy of Ward, not just because Ward wanted her but because of who she was in her own right, it was the highest compliment he could give. She took it for the highest compliment she could receive, as well, because she had fought beside Oreg, seen him wracked with fear and loss when Ward was imprisoned but never willing to give up. In his dragon form, he was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and his strength had healed her left hand when she'd thought she would lose it.

Last night the first snow of winter had fallen, and Oreg was using magic to melt it where it had clogged the courtyard and the bailey, so that the rebuilding could continue. It was her turn to watch him, and across the way she caught Ward doing the same. The "Hurog magic" expression was plain on his face, as though the warmth driving away the snow was also wrapped around him.

"That, Ward, is what a suitably subtle manipulation of fire can do," Oreg said, when he was done. "With luck, you'll be able to do it by next year."

"Assuming I don't burn up the courtyard first," Ward said, but everything about him proclaimed that he was enjoying Oreg's teasing.

"Since that would probably involve burning up your teacher, too," Oreg rolled his eyes, "I'd appreciate it if you tried to restrain yourself. Fire, gods, and ancient artifacts -- why am I bedeviled with a student set on overdoing things?"

"Keeps you on your toes," came Ward's answer. "I live to make your life exciting."

"You live to make my life more dangerous," Oreg snorted. "And Hurog is set on helping you, for some reason. Maybe if you burnt its bailey to cinders it would change its mind, and then my shields would actually hold you."

"You can hold me later, if you want," Ward said distractedly -- he had spotted the chief mason running out from the barracks with an armload of plans and a look that suggested a minor disaster had been discovered. Tisala was the only one who saw the light blush cross Oreg's cheeks.

So. And so.

==+=+=+=+==

Two days before the winter solstice, as she sat in the room she'd adopted for her study, Ward looked up from the crop records and said, "Tis, I think Oreg is in love with us."

The sound of her own record book dropping rang like a stone in a well, covering her startled gasp. Every thought of council gatherings and Ward's plans for a solstice feast flew out of her head like sparrows scattered by a cat. Not at the thought, though; only at his voicing it.

"I didn't know you knew," was all she said.

"It took me a while. But even a simpleton" -- his eyes went dull as he gave her his best impression of a village idiot confronting complicated sums -- "knows there are limited conclusions to draw when a man is constantly staring at your wife. Especially when he also wakes up calling your name."

Tisala blinked, but refused to be distracted; instead she made a mental note to ask about those circumstances later, and returned to the subject at hand. "I love you, Ward," she began. "I hope you know that. I've never been tempted to -- to hurt you in any way."

"I know," he said, and she saw the answering sentiment in his eyes.

"Oreg, though... Ward, I think I love him, too." She got up and went to him, sinking down onto his lap rather than perching on the chair arm, because this was easier to say with her arms around him. "You love him. You have for a long time, I think. Maybe even as long as his returning from the dead." She kissed his mouth, and thought of words, and of redemptions past.

"I don't love you less," Ward protested into her temple, when she let him move.

"I know. It makes me very happy. _You_ make me very happy. And Oreg is a part of that; he's part of you the way Hurog is part of you, and I find I don't want to deny him anything. Making Oreg unhappy... distresses me."

"Tisala. Tis." Ward's voice was low and laced with -- was it hope? "There are limited conclusions I can draw from that, too. Are you really sure?"

One deep breath. Out. In. "Yes, Ward. I'm saying he's already a part of us; we should let him in the rest of the way."

Ward kissed her, then, surging against her mouth like she'd just slain every foe ranged against him. She clasped his body to her and let him pour everything he couldn't say into her mouth, then turned the kiss gentle again.

"We're in this together," she said, and took his hand as she rose to draw him with her.

==+=+=+=+==

That night, Oreg opened the door to his room and paused on the threshold. Traces of magic lingered; magic with an unmistakeable signature.

There was a piece of parchment on the floor that hadn't been there when he left. The magical tracery covered it, too; it had been pushed beneath the door by Ward's power. Curious, expecting nothing more than a request for healing for some politically significant person, he picked it up and scanned it. The message it bore was very short.

==+=+=+=+==

Tisala held Ward's hand again as they sat on the edge of the bed. Waiting had never been her strong point, but Ward was her anchor in this, and she was hers. Together, as they'd promised.

When the door opened and Oreg stepped in, she held out her left hand as Ward lifted his right. Tisala tried to express everything she felt with only her eyes and her gesture. _We love you. We want you. We freely offer you everything, scars and all, and wish the same from you._

The face of Hurog's oldest dragon lit with a flare of painful hope, and he stepped into their offered embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Elsandry,
> 
> I cannot describe how delighted I was when I read your "Dear Author" letter! I agreed to write Ward & Oreg with a bit of regret that Tisala had been left out (I, too, failed to get a nomination submitted in time!), and was going to go with either gen or Oreg/Ward/approved-by-Tisala... and then I saw your letter, and that you preferred OT3 fic if possible. I almost danced!
> 
> I hope this story is a pleasant Yule surprise!


End file.
